Cows are weird. They are huge, slobbery, incredibly top heavy animals; but those huge, slobbery, fat-bellied creatures can jump over fences. And if one charges you, you better start running in a serpentine pattern because that is some scary stuff.
Calves, however, are cute. They have dainty, shaky little Bambi-legs. They have huge, dark brown eyes lined with Covergirl-wanna-be eyelashes. They’re adorable. They are shy and jumpy until you present a bucket of feed or a bottle filled with milk replacement; then they swarm you. It’s like being attacked by kindergarteners. Kind of scary, kind of precious.
Cows are a different story. I know non-farmers always picture the black and white spotted, cow-jumped-over-the-moon storybook characters; real-life cows are a little different. They breathe heavier than an asthmatic after a sprint, and they have long tongues that can pick their own noses. They lumber back and forth as they walk, like a cartoon tuba player. Some of them are mean, and some of them are nice. All of them are hungry. I tagged along with Cass one morning to deliver bales of hay to the cows out at pasture…
…and he took me on a field trip.
“You can come pet Tame Cow,” he told me.
Tame Cow is old. Cattle usually live around 15 years; Tame Cow is pushing 20. Cass has been feeding Tame Cow corn by hand for years. She is fat and old and very, very happy.
This brown cow is not Tame Cow. Brown Cow was not very impressed with my photography skills or constant giggling.
This cow is Tame Cow! She was very friendly and curious, and I patted her once then went to take a picture. This picture, actually. And then she stuck out her tongue and I may or may not have squealed very loudly, and then she ran away and would not come back to me, The Squealer Who Carries Foreign Objects Called Cameras into her pasture. Maybe next time, Tame Cow. Maybe next time.